


Memory Lane

by idelthoughts



Series: A Remarkable Resemblance [3]
Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Doppelganger, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to revisit James' memory in this way might not be the wisest choice, but Henry's made worse choices in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Lane

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [A Remarkable Resemblance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3806716). While theoretically you can get away without reading it, it introduces the character of Andrew and will make this an easier read.
> 
> It is set one year pre-series (October 2013).
> 
> Thank you to [binz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/binz) for the beta an encouragement!

Live long enough, and you start to see ghosts everywhere—some more real than others.

Henry’s pen paused mid-sentence, and he glanced over at the business card set on the side of his desk. Again. Third time in the last ten minutes, despite the fact that he was determined to get the last of his notes written up before joining Abraham upstairs for dinner.

He knew well enough he shouldn’t go for dinner with Andrew. A nice enough young man, but a little naive, a little too modern for his tastes.

Yet he hadn’t thrown away the business card.

Henry cleared his throat and bent his head to his work again, but by this point it was obvious he was kidding himself.

He might be prone to lack of adequate self-reflection on his own motivations, but he wasn’t a completely blind fool. The eerie visual similarity to James had nagged at him all week. Each time he looked at the card, old memories washed over him and mixed with the solid feel of Andrew’s hand in his, the spark of interest and desire, and a very present itch that reminded Henry it had been some time since he’d made the effort to connect with someone.

Oh, might as well not skirt the truth with himself—sex. It had been a while, and lifetimes since a man had caught his fancy. The exciting possibilities niggled at the corners of his thoughts, continuously distracting him from the abstract pursuits of his work. Though time and experience had dulled the sharper, impulsive urges of desire, he was, on occasion, reminded that his body had never entirely forgotten it was still young and vital.

A pesky irritation at times, the craving for intimacy. It was a different kind of loneliness. He’d never denied himself over the years, content to meet people, fall in love, drift from them when the time came—until Abigail. He’d never truly fallen so in love that he’d stayed even when time started dragging them apart. Then again, he’d never fallen in love without the secret wedge of his immortality stuck firm between them.

Abigail’s portrait occupied its customary spot on his desk, always in the corner of his eye, and when he glanced at it she smiled back, as always. Since Abigail’s disappearance, he’d not found himself drawn to anyone for more than a bit of relief. In many ways he still thought of himself as a married man, and guilt played as much a part in these encounters as did anything else.

Henry’s pen was drooping in his fingers, his notes still unwritten as he sat wool-gathering. He finally admitted defeat and closed his notebook to head upstairs, hoping he could put himself off long enough that he’d lose interest.

However, persistent memories, curiosity, and that damned itch wouldn’t leave him be, so that evening, when Abe was out playing poker with friends, Henry snatched up the business card and dialled the number.

“ _Hello?_ ” Andrew’s voice sounded cautious when he answered.

“Hello, Andrew? Henry Morgan. We met at the antiques store.”

 _“Oh! Henry, hi!”_ Andrew laughed. _“It’s usually only telemarketers and my family who call. Don’t remember the last time someone didn’t just text.”_

“Ah, yes, well. I’m not much of a—a texter.”

There was a beat of silence. Henry rolled his eyes heavenward, wondering what the hell he was doing.

 _“I’m glad you did call, though,”_ Andrew said tentatively.

Bless the young man, he truly wore his heart on his sleeve. He could picture Andrew—hardly a challenge, his features already firmly set in Henry’s mind—grimacing in embarrassment. Henry smiled, a little charmed by it, recalling the nervous eagerness the other day in the shop, his wide-eyed delight when Henry impulsively accepted his advance. It was so unlike James’ confident swagger that it was sufficient to soothe Henry with false reassurance that this was all indeed based in honest attraction for Andrew himself. Any guilt was unnecessary.

“I wondered if I might take you up on that coffee. Or, rather, if you’d join me for dinner this Saturday evening.”

Andrew, sounding pleased and a little surprised, agreed, and they swiftly made their plans, with Andrew agreeing to meet him there, and they ended the call.

Job done, Henry hovered over the phone for a moment, not quite certain what to do with himself, before setting off to rifle his closet.

Wouldn’t hurt to pick an outfit now. Might as well make a good impression.

 

***

 

Andrew met Henry in front of the restaurant as planned, and when he turned, profile lit by the setting sun, Henry was sucked backward in time—James; vibrant, bright, as hale and hearty as he was before his illness, a distant memory come to life once more.

“Hi, Henry,” Andrew said. He paused, then stuck out his hand with a slightly forced, nervous smile.

“A pleasure to see you again,” he responded warmly, taking Andrew’s hand to shake it.

Andrew’s mouth quirked up at the side, a small chuckle escaping him. The sound was so familiar Henry’s chest ached, leaving him to stare and hold Andrew’s hand until Andrew cleared his throat and his gaze flickered and dropped down in vague embarrassment. Henry shook himself and released him, then gestured towards the restaurant.

“Shall we?”

“Yeah,” Andrew said, turning towards the door with what looked like marked relief. “I’ve, ah, heard good things about it.”

As he followed Andrew into the restaurant, Henry wondered again if he’d made a mistake.

Mistake or not, Henry hung on Andrew’s every word throughout dinner with warm delight, captivated by the familiarity. He was certain he looked the doting fool, but he didn’t care, enjoying himself far too much to let it go so soon.

After dinner as they walked, Andrew put an arm about Henry’s shoulders and pulled him close, fingers brushing his neck, the hold firm enough to almost be direction. Andrew’s eyes kept flitting to Henry, the space between them disappearing with each block. Henry let himself sink into it, too easily able to close his eyes and hear the clip-clop of horse hooves against cobblestones and the thick air of industrial Manhattan mixed in among the engine roar of modern day, to feel the tweed of James’ good jacket beneath his fingers when he put a hand on the small of James’ back.

 _Andrew’s_ back. Henry’s thoughts already drifted too easily into the past without prompting, but the intense similarity—and the longing and grief he’d felt after James’ passing that had resurfaced these last few days—made it difficult to keep it straight. At some point in the evening he’d stopped trying very hard.

However, while Henry might be shamelessly indulging himself, he should respect Andrew for the man he was, rather than the man he resembled. He should enjoy this evening out and then head home. He’d let this stand as a pleasant, unexpected experience, and no more.

But then Andrew whispered words in his ear that echoed a moment long ago, a night when he’d made a similar proposition to James.

Once again, as in the past, all those selfless, chivalrous thoughts left with such speed that Henry barely knew they’d ever been in his head. James had always had that effect on him.

There was no harm in it, really.

 

***

 

The night was going well, Andrew thought. Better than he’d pictured. Henry was easy to talk to, compensating effortlessly for Andrew’s stuttering nerves until he’d managed to relax and respond in kind. Henry drifted from topic to topic with ease, but he’d been a bit lost when Andrew gave the subject of movies a try, until he’d pulled out of Henry that he hadn’t watched film or TV for a while.

“Netflix guy?” Andrew had asked.

“No, not really.”

And that had been that, a closed door. There’d been a few of those weird little moments where Henry had shifted, then redirected. Andrew wondered if he’d been raised Amish or Quaker, or whatever the British equivalent of that was. He had a disconnect with random little things that sometimes made Andrew feel like he was having a conversation with his grandfather.

Henry paid for their dinner—insisted on it, with a determined, gentlemanly formality—and suggested they talk a walk by the river. Andrew chuckled and ribbed him about it as they wandered, a destination not yet decided.

“So, what, wine and dine me to soften me up?” Andrew joked, leaning towards Henry’s ear. He felt loose and at ease, and it was too simple to put an arm around Henry’s shoulders and pull him close.

“Only if it’s working.”

Henry’s cheeky response was as honest a question as it was a tease, and Andrew was more than ready, if Henry was willing. Riding high on the success of the evening so far, he leaned closer until his lips brushed Henry’s ear, and he slid the tip of his fingers along the edge of Henry’s shirt collar, over the back of his neck.

“Definitely working, Henry. Come home with me?”

Henry’s eyelids flicked shut a fraction longer than a blink. He swallowed heavily, worryingly silent.

Andrew pulled back a space and straightened, remembering himself with sudden alarm. He almost pulled his arm away, but that would have been a little too obvious. Matt had always teased him about his tendency to come on too strong—nicely at first, and then less nice. Early on it was fine, but it became a constant enough refrain that Andrew had started to check himself and notice that yes, he did maybe get a little too friendly, too free with touches. Not like he was a groper or anything, but hugs, a hand on a shoulder here and there.

Or practically sticking his tongue in Henry’s ear while propositioning him.

He could almost hear Matt’s tone of disapproval, and the roll of his shoulders to shrug Andrew off.

Henry’s hand slid around his waist, distracting Andrew from his nervous fret, and under his jacket until it rest flat against Andrew’s back. The warmth of Henry’s skin radiated through his dress shirt.

“Yes. I would like that.”

Andrew let out the lungful of air he’d been holding, grinning wildly with relief. He squeezed the nape of Henry’s neck, feeling taut muscle beneath his hands, and Henry made a low noise of appreciation. Andrew looked at him and found Henry intent on him, direct and frank enough in his desire that Andrew wanted to stop right there and kiss him. His mouth dropped open as his breath sped up and Henry smiled, looking pleased with himself.

They made it and walked up the two flights to Andrew’s apartment, and Andrew let them in and dug a bottle of wine out of the cupboard. It had been kicking around since his sister’s wedding last summer—she’d bought a few cases of wine too many and ended up handing them out to guests like party favours as they left the reception.

He returned to the living room to find Henry standing in the middle of it, casting his gaze around like he was mapping the place out.

“I’m not really a decorator,” Andrew said, sheepish in his apology as he handed Henry his glass of wine, suddenly nervous. “Kind of a little thin at the moment. I guess I’ll get there eventually.”

“The chesterfield was a good choice—suits the room. How long since he moved out?” Henry asked casually as he continued his scan.

Andrew’s jaw dropped and he tried to stutter a reply. Did he have a sign around his neck? _Recently Rejected, Inquire Here for Rebound Opportunities?_

Henry noticed his reaction and half-smiled, half-grimaced in response.

“Sorry, bad habit. The indents in the carpet—recent furniture removal, and the shopping for new pieces. Two bedroom apartment, a little on the pricey side for even an urban professional to choose on his own, and your…” He trailed off as Andrew’s bemusement grew. “Apologies.”

“About a month,” Andrew said, staring at the small ruts in the carpet that had marked where Matt’s sofa had sat. He took a sip of wine to fortify himself. “You, ah. Wow, that’s some trick.”

“I notice things, I suppose,” Henry said diffidently. “Though, perhaps, haven’t yet learned when to keep them to myself.”

The warmth of his self-deprecating apology relaxed Andrew a little, and he managed to have a chuckle at his own expense. It wasn’t a secret, and shouldn’t upset him. Fact of life, Matt’s departure. Just like moving on was a fact of life, even if a little bit of guilt lingered underneath the whole evening, making him feel like he was cheating.

He wasn’t, he reminded himself. He took another gulp of wine. He could damned well do what he liked. Free man, free to make his own decisions, and Henry, looking him over with appreciative interest, was the decision he was about to make.

It had been natural enough walking down the street, but now... Andrew hadn’t even put music on—the two of them were just standing around in his silent, denuded apartment. He had no idea how to make a move without it being awkward and forced. Henry seemed all too happy to wait him out, unabashedly keeping eye contact and his body open, but not advancing. Andrew wished the man would take the hint and make the first move.

Maybe this was Henry’s version of politeness, making sure Andrew was fine with this—maybe that’s what the comment on his ex was about.

He _was_ ready. Sort of. Well, he was determined to be ready by the time he got his mouth on Henry’s, anyway.

Andrew steeled himself and put his glass on the coffee table. With a raised eyebrow, Henry mirrored his action and set down his untouched wine, and Andrew took a step towards him. Another step, heart in his throat, and he’d closed the gap between them. Henry licked his bottom lip, eyes on Andrew’s mouth.

More than enough of a green light. Andrew bent his head to press his lips to Henry’s. It wasn’t delicate, perhaps a little harder than he’d meant as he used speed to fill in for decisiveness.

Henry’s reaction was gratifying, however. A swift intake of breath, an immediate reciprocation, and an arm around his body pulling him close while his fingers slid into the hair at the nape of Andrew’s neck. The enthusiasm, the immediate perfect chemistry, was so electric that Andrew’s whole body tingled with shock for a second before he put his arms around Henry, returning the embrace and the kiss.

It was _perfect_. Henry was a fabulous kisser, and for one wild moment Andrew couldn’t quite figure out how he’d ended up with this man in his apartment. This wasn’t his normal run of luck. He did alright for himself, but for a one-night thing— _was it a one-night thing? No, think about that later_ —it was incredibly natural and easy. Henry melted into the kiss, and Andrew had no hesitation in running his hands down Henry’s back and pulling his hips close, cupping his ass and kneading the flesh through the thin fabric of his dress pants.

Henry made a noise, deep and pleased, fingers tightening in Andrew’s hair. Damn, they were both well on their way to hard already. Zero to sixty in no time flat. Compatibility? Not a problem.

Andrew’s reticence and worry were fading away as blunt excitement and need took over. When he realized he was walking Henry backwards towards his bedroom while pawing at his clothes, he worked at reining himself in and easing off. They broke the kiss, both of them panting. Henry’s lips were reddened, cheeks a ruddy colour, and he looked dazed for the first time that Andrew had seen. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Andrew’s mouth, was stroking the nape of his neck and sending shivers down Andrew’s spine.

“Don’t stop now,” Henry’s grin was intimate and inviting. “I believe you had a destination in mind?”

Andrew worked his fingers under Henry’s dress shirt where he’d untucked it, finding hot skin. Henry’s eyes closed, his head tilting back.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I do,” Andrew moved forward again, Henry responding and backing up to match him. It had the coordinated grace of a dance, and Andrew bent his head to kiss Henry’s jaw, then down along his neck, feeling his pulse vibrating beneath his mouth. He sucked at the skin and Henry’s sigh was near to a moan, his chin lifting to expose more of him.

Oh, Andrew definitely wanted more. As he tried to have his hands and mouth everywhere at once their feet tangled, making them stumble awkwardly, bumping them into the hallway wall. Andrew reached out a hand to brace them, crushing Henry against the wall as he ground against him, sucking hard at the skin above his collar with a growl. Henry’s hands loosened on him when his head knocked back against the wall. That finally made Andrew lift his head, alarmed. He really needed to get ahold of himself, this was ridiculous. He barely knew him and he was mauling him. He should take this slow, he’d scare the guy off.

“Sorry,” he panted.

“No need.”

Henry didn’t hesitate to kiss him again, wet and filthy, and Andrew leaned his weight on Henry again, drawn back in. Henry’s hands found Andrew’s and he laced his fingers between his, lifting their hands so they were palms together, moving them until they were pressed back to the wall, letting Andrew hold him there.

Well, _fuck_.

Bed. Definitely bed. Bed now.

Andrew tugged Henry from the wall and used the firm grip on his hands to steer Henry back towards the bedroom. Henry’s laughter against his lips was warm with gentle amusement, and Andrew grinned back, feeling reckless and giddy.

This was fun. He was having _fun_. It shouldn’t surprise him, but it had been a while since sex had been anything more than perfunctory, or tinged with resentment. Certainly Matt had never appreciated Andrew’s tendency to get a little pushy in bed, meaning he was always holding back just a little, never quite letting himself get carried away. Not that it was bad, he’d been more than happy to accommodate, it wasn’t like he _needed_ anything in particular—

No, he wasn’t going to think about his ex while sleeping with another guy. To distract himself, Andrew pushed Henry’s jacket from his shoulders, casting it to the side and over the chair where a few of his own clothes from yesterday still lay. Henry reciprocated, working at Andrew’s clothes, his gaze roaming over Andrew. Andrew fumbled with the buttons on Henry’s shirt, exposing his chest, flat planes of soft skin, and—

And the biggest fucking scar he’d ever seen. It was like someone had stabbed Henry through the heart with a flaming stake. He paused, blinking stupidly.

“Long story,” Henry murmured, tugging Andrew back against him, and then slid a hand down to trail over the front of Andrew’s pants, rubbing along his erection firm enough that Andrew gasped, eyes half-closing. “Perhaps later?”

“Uh, sure, uh-huh,” Andrew agreed, and Henry stroked a hand against him again. Oh, god, that was good. “Sorry, didn’t mean to, ah, to be rude,” he rasped, distracted by the movement.

“You’re not,” Henry assured him. “You apologize far too often. I promise you, I’m not so easily offended.”

Clothes were tugged off and discarded piece at a time until they were in nothing but underwear. Henry’s deliberate and smooth caresses were driving him crazy, at once too much and too little. He pulled Andrew down onto the bed and their legs slotted together as Andrew climbed over him and let his weight press down on Henry. Andrew rocked his hips, sliding them against each other, and Henry mouthed at his ear, his neck, breath rasping as they moved.

Henry wrapped his legs around Andrew’s hips, and Andrew grabbed hold of one thigh and thrust, rocking them together, again and again, losing track of anything but the hard slide against Henry’s body.

Henry’s whole body shuddered and he clutched at Andrew’s hips.

“Stop—stop,” Henry gasped.

Andrew immediately propped himself up to look down at Henry. Henry’s head was back, his teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut. After a moment he relaxed a bit, blinking.

“You okay?” Andrew asked, concerned.

“A little close to the edge.” He smiled, rueful. “Been a while.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows. Henry didn’t strike him as a guy who’d have any trouble getting laid every night of the week if he liked, given the flirting routine Andrew had been on the end of. But hell, a little flattering that he was ready to come just from this.

Henry had a fond expression on his face, and his hands stroked Andrew’s cheeks, his thumbs sweeping along his cheekbones.

“You are beautiful,” Henry murmured.

Andrew wasn’t sure why the compliment struck him quite so hard as it did. Maybe something in how tender Henry’s hands were on his face, the soft tone of his voice—unexpected, blatant affection in what had been shaping up to be a hard and fast fuck and nothing more.

Unable to think of an adequate response, he kissed Henry again, a little hesitant, not certain if they were going to continue. But Henry responded, hands sliding over his back, and so Andrew let his weight rest on him again. The kiss was gentler, but no less passionate, and soon Andrew’s hips were twitching in echo of the deeper thrusts he wanted to make, the anticipation building.

Henry was pliant and warm beneath him, responding to every move, his hands and legs finding and brushing against every sensitive spot on his body and driving Andrew to distraction. He took Henry’s hands again, pinning them to the bed, the kiss growing more heated, Henry’s moans growing deeper with every move of their hips together, egging him on. Andrew was losing himself in this, all the tension and frustration and loneliness of the past month making him stupid and overeager.

“God, Henry, I want to fuck you,” Andrew growled against Henry’s neck, fingers clenched tight between Henry’s. He winced, clamping his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to say that, to be so—

“I was hoping you would,” Henry responded with a chuckle, rolling his head to kiss Andrew’s temple.

Andrew shuddered as an intense shot of anticipation raced through him. He hadn’t for ages, Matt wasn’t really into the receiving side of things after a while, said Andrew always—

Andrew shooed away the unhelpful thought and nuzzled against Henry’s cheek, lips near his ear.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Henry’s dry tone made Andrew laugh a little.

“Okay then. I’ve got condoms and lube, hang on.”

Henry unlocked his legs from around Andrew’s hips, and Andrew levered himself up and sat on the edge of the bed to open the bedside table cupboard. Behind him, Henry sat up and put an arm around his torso, kissing the back of his neck as his hand stroked Andrew’s chest, finding a nipple and tweaking it gently. Andrew shivered, the sensation making his groin pulse.

“Hang on, I’ll never get them if you keep distracting me,” Andrew joked with a smile, and Henry chuckled.

“I’ll be right back,” Henry said, and then got off the bed and headed for the en suite bathroom, stripping off his boxers as he went and tossing them onto the pile of his other clothing on the chair.

Andrew watched him go. He was stunning. Utterly comfortable, no apology as he strolled with the same confident step. When the door shut, Andrew finished rooting out the condoms and lube, his hands shaking with anticipation.

 

***

 

When Henry stepped out of the en suite after cleaning himself up, Andrew was stretched out on the bed, lazily stroking himself with his eyes closed, condom already on. Henry took a moment to lean against the door frame and watch Andrew’s hand moving over his erection, appreciating the sight. Hearing him, Andrew rolled his head to look at Henry, his hazel eyes cloudy with arousal, curly hair a beautiful mess.

In the space between one second and the next Henry was transported back to those lazy, hot summer nights, James in his bed, even the sheets too much to have over their overheated bodies. James, with an eager and youthful disposition that Henry had lost, unabashedly trying to lure Henry back to bed and distract him from thoughts of work. Teasing him with lighthearted joy about being too much the stick in the mud, until James had him gasping and writhing, utterly unable to keep any sort of composure as he moved inside Henry.

How easy it was to pretend, how simple to let himself stay in that fantasy. More difficult was separating his affection from James from this very temporary physical encounter. That face, that sweet disposition, was so familiar. Ghosts and shadows—that was what occupied Henry’s heart. He was too full of their memories to find space for new loves. More and more, the people he became involved with were mere echoes. Not always as blatant as this, however—in all his life he’d never seen two unrelated people more alike in appearance.

It was so easy to pretend…

Ah well, the privacy of his own thoughts had been a haven for worse things than a bit of self-indulgent delusion.

_Henry Morgan, you are unconscionable._

“You coming back?”

Andrew had rolled to his side, watching Henry with a slightly puzzled smile.

Henry roused himself from his reverie and returned to the bed. It was not summer now and his skin had cooled off, and Andrew’s hands were hot against him as he pulled Henry down over him. Henry threw a leg over and straddled his long, lean body, perfectly familiar in shape, and in very little time Henry was eager and ready again.

Andrew urged him over onto the bed, shuffling and positioning him such that he expected Henry to roll into his belly. Henry resisted and Andrew stopped, uncertain.

“I’d rather face you,” Henry explained. “If it’s all the same.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Andrew knelt between his legs, and pulled one of Henry’s legs up so it rested on Andrew’s shoulder, and flipped open the bottle of lube. His features focused and intent, he touched Henry, his fingers slippery and gentle with another condom unrolled over them. Henry sucked in a breath.

James smiled at him and Henry’s heart clenched.

 _Andrew_ , he reminded himself, not his James, not the man he’d—

Fingers slipped into him and Henry gasped again, hands clenching at the bed. He lost himself for a moment in the stretch and push of fingers inside him, gently moving.

Andrew shuffled closer and his fingers slipped free, replaced by the blunt tip of his erection. Henry lifted his other leg at Andrew’s urging and relaxed into the pressure.

Andrew’s eyebrows were drawn together in concentration as he pressed, controlled, steady, until muscles gave way and he slid in. Andrew’s groan was deep, unrestrained, and reached into Henry’s visceral memory—a sound he knew intimately well, that slack-jawed look of pleasure so close to his heart. Henry’s joy at experiencing it again mixed with the intense physical pleasure and made him euphoric.

James leaned forward slowly, pressing into Henry, sliding deeper and deeper.

No, _Andrew_ , someone he barely knew, not a man who’d been taken from him far too early, who’d been dead over a century—

Henry didn’t care any longer. The argument with himself was a pointless one, and as one gentle thrust rocked him and made him groan in appreciation, Henry let himself believe. For now, it was real. Why not? Did it matter to anyone but him? Why couldn’t he have this, just a moment to escape into?

Another thrust, and Henry cried out—wordless, nameless.

“Henry,” James whispered. “God, Henry, you look… _Oh_ —”

James was staring down at Henry, mouth hanging open as he panted. Henry stroked his hair, his face, struggling to keep his eyes open as every thrust make him rock and shudder with pleasure, but he was unwilling to give up the sight.

“I’m not going to break,” Henry murmured, stroking James’ neck, heels to the back of his thighs and urging him deeper.

James squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, and bucked his hips hard.

“Yes, like that,” Henry gasped.

Another hard thrust, making the bed creak.

Harder, again and again, and James’ forehead was damp, their bodies slick. Henry was near bent double, the friction of their bodies moving stimulating him as well as the repeated thrusts against his prostate, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Yes, you’re amazing, can you come—god, can you come like this?” James had one hand tight in Henry’s hair, holding his head back, the other around one of Henry’s wrists, holding his hand above his head, his voice deep and beautiful. Henry could barely do more than buck up against every thrust, his breath whining in and out. So close, every thrust bringing him closer.

“Yes,” Henry gasped. “Yes, keep going, please, _oh_.”

Henry pleaded, his mouth running, babbling his appreciation, a stream of words flowing out of him unchecked. It was so good to let go, and with James, young, vital, _alive_.

Henry stiffened and cried out as his orgasm overtook him, and James choked and grunted as Henry’s muscles clamped down on him. He thrust a few more times, hard, violent, making Henry writhe, and then he came, shuddering, rocking them through it until he collapsed on Henry, panting, his grip loosening.

Giddy and light, panting, Henry pressed his face to sweaty skin. He revelled in the feel of a body covering his, all his nerves still tingling and sensitive, and he stroked the length of his back, over his flank, wherever he could reach. Oh, he’d needed this. He hummed contentedly, threading his fingers into curly dark hair, happy.

“I must really look like him,” Andrew murmured, turning his face to kiss Henry’s cheek.

Henry’s hands stilled.

Had he—

Damn.

Henry swallowed heavily and closed his eyes, heart sinking as the illusion faded away, revealing his insensitivity and selfishness.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Andrew sighed. He lifted himself up, slipping out of Henry. He reached for a box of tissues and carefully pulled the condom off, then offered Henry the box to clean himself up. “Give me a sec.”

Andrew padded across to the en suite, then after a minute brought back a wet facecloth for Henry. Sheepish and feeling like an unforgivable cad, Henry wiped himself off. When he was done, Andrew took the cloth back from him and chucked it through the en suite door.

“I’ll get it later,” he said.

After an awkward pause, Henry reached a hand towards Andrew and pulled him back into the bed, wrapping his arms around him, shifting so they were close. Andrew kicked at the blankets until he could reach them, pulling them up and over them for warmth.

“I am sorry,” Henry repeated, kissing Andrew softly before drawing back. Andrew shrugged.

“It’s—well, you know. It’s not like I’m in a position to judge, seeing as I’m sort of…” He waved a hand aimlessly towards the rest of the apartment, towards all the empty space.

“Even so, rather crass,” Henry said with a sigh.

“Well hey, if it’s going to get results like this, I’m totally fine with being used for my body and my looks,” Andrew joked, propping himself up on one elbow and leaning his head on his fist. He sobered, then reached out to run a hand over Henry’s side. “I didn’t—wasn’t too rough or anything?”

“No, not at all.” A forward, enthusiastic partner had always appealed to Henry, and Andrew had more than obliged, though hardly in such a transgressive manner requiring apology or concern—though Henry wouldn’t have objected to that, either. He eyed Andrew curiously, then slotted the pieces together. “Ah. I take it your previous relationship involved a less receptive partner?”

Andrew squinted at Henry, then snorted in disbelief.

“You _really_ need to learn that thing where you don’t say everything that goes through your head.”

Henry laughed and raised himself up, murmuring an apology and kissing him softly, with sincerity, until he coaxed a response from Andrew. It turned into something deeper, and Andrew sucked in a breath, wrapping his arm around Henry’s body and pulling him closer.

“You, uh, want to stay?” Andrew’s fingers travelled the line of his collarbone.

“I’d like to. If I haven’t completely offended you.”

“Not yet.” Andrew rested his head on the pillow and nuzzled against Henry’s hair as Henry lay on his back, his arm across Henry’s chest, both of them languorous with the glow of post-coital contentment.

Henry wasn’t entirely certain it was the best course of action, but he wasn’t ready to leave this comfortable intimacy yet.

“So who am I in another life,” Andrew murmured into his hair. Henry sighed, wondering if perhaps he should leave after all, not continue to stoke Andrew’s insecurity. “Sorry to ask, but I’m curious.”

Henry settled himself on his side facing Andrew. He supposed he owed him that much.

“A doctor,” Henry said.

“Well, my mom would be proud,” Andrew said, his grin like an echo of the past. “Not a Poulin, is he? Some better version of myself isn’t going to show me up at my next family reunion?”

Henry chuckled, brushing his fingers over Andrew’s arm.

“No, a Carter.”

“Good. That’s a surprise I could do without.”

Henry kissed Andrew, smiling at his good humour, and relaxed again.

 

***

 

Henry dressed up smartly in his tailored suits was a nice sight, but frankly he looked even better in Andrew’s bed, well-fucked and relaxed. A little weird to know Henry wasn’t entirely here for Andrew, but the hot mouth working him until he was clutching the headboard, arms shaking with tension, was going a long way towards making him not care.

There were stranger things than being in bed with a man and the memory of his ex. As he’d said, Andrew couldn’t really judge. Matt was too fresh a wound for him not to compare every move and sound Henry made to those three years. Certainly there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that bore a suspicious similarity to Matt’s, making him continuously second-guess himself. When had he become like this, so worried about every move he made?

They’d had their issues, him and Matt. Maybe Andrew had been kidding himself, trying to fit into the precise requirements Matt held. As with anything, it had started out great, a fun year of weekend beach holidays and all the things new couples do, of fooling around in inappropriate places and loud laughter over private jokes. Moving in together seemed natural when work schedules made it hard to find time for each other, and neither wanted to be apart.

If he looked back on it now—and he’d had way too much time over the last month to dwell on it—he could logically see that it had been a balancing act to find their equilibrium after the move in. He suspected he’d been Matt’s bad idea relationship—a fun fling that got too serious, and then he’d tried to make it what he wanted instead of what it was.

Andrew could admit he was impulsive, a little loud, a little silly. It took another year before he noticed the way it made Matt cringe when they were out, before he saw the consistency with which Matt refused any advances that strayed outside soft, gentle touches, how even Andrew’s joking boisterousness in little things like preparing dinner or sharing stories about his day at work made Matt roll his eyes and tease Andrew a little unkindly about his ‘constant drama.’

And sex? That was an exercise in frustration. They really weren’t that compatible, honestly. Slow and gentle was fine for a while. He liked the sweetness and romance of it, and Matt had been loving, if not passionate. But after a while, even after the release of an orgasm, Andrew was left feeling like he was still vibrating with pent-up energy.

His whole life had become like that, like he was trying to keep a whirlwind in a bottle. He’d told himself it was worth it.

 _A piece of chaos come to life_ , that’s what Andrew’s mom always called him as a kid. Matt had a quiet calm about him that drew Andrew in, put a little peace in his soul, and he’d loved him for it. He was an anchor. Matt, however, found Andrew to be that piece of chaos that he couldn’t deal with. Eventually it was too much for him. Instead of any warning, instead of talking about it, Matt had delivered his notice like he was quitting a job, and in less than two days he’d moved out.

Andrew was left to drift, the rope severed. Matt hadn’t called since, leaving Andrew to wonder how exactly he’d fucked up so badly and not even known. It had been an awful month. A bit of time to reflect, however, led him to realize he hadn’t really been happy for a while, trying to make himself something he wasn’t. Maybe Matt had done them both a favour. The opportunity to live without trying to hold himself rigidly, constantly trying to slow the pace of his mind and body—it was freeing.

Too bad he’d been too miserable most of the last few weeks to really enjoy it.

Henry’s mouth slid off him and he kissed the crease of Andrew’s groin, working his way up until he was over Andrew, arms braced by his head. Andrew let go of the headboard, and his fingers were cramped and white. Henry took one hand and kissed his palm.

“Everything alright?” Henry asked, intent on Andrew, looking down with a quiet patience that was in complete contrast with the red of his lips and cheeks, and the hard erection dragging against Andrew’s stomach.

“Yeah, it’s great.” Henry raised an eyebrow, and Andrew stuttered awkwardly before managing, “Sorry, I guess my mind wandered.”

“Ah,” Henry said, as though that answered everything.

Andrew was struck with the wild thought that maybe Henry could read minds, but of course the answer was probably more like Andrew was incredibly easy to read. He had a bad habit of showing everything he was thinking and feeling.

Henry reached for the lube and slicked his hand before reaching between them and grasping Andrew’s cock. He moved his hand over it, the condom crinkling faintly, and Andrew sucked in a sharp breath. He met Andrew’s eyes again, a confident smile on his face, something like a smirk. It shouldn’t have been quite as sexy as it was, having someone gloat over watching you squirm.

A few more strokes and Andrew had trouble keeping his eyes open, but Henry’s gaze was riveting, unforgiving. He studied Andrew like he was an experiment, a project, gauging him precisely as his hand moved, sweeping down over his balls and constantly moving, just the right weight and pressure. Andrew clutched his shoulder, his hips starting to buck up into Henry’s hand, turned on by the invasiveness of his gaze as much as anything else.

“There, I believe I have your attention now,” Henry murmured, smiling warmly.

“Yeah—yeah,” Andrew panted. He finally got it together enough to slip a hand between them, fumbling with clumsy hands to get hold of Henry and stroke him in return.

Henry’s eyelids flickered, and he made a noise deep in his throat, half-considering, half enjoyment.

“The question is whether or not you’d like to penetrate me again. I’m quite curious to see what you’re like when you’re not holding back.”

Andrew’s hand stilled and he closed his eyes, his cock pulsing in Henry’s hand. The clinical terminology mixed with the blunt delivery would have normally made him laugh, but it suited Henry. Besides, he was way too turned on by the proposition to find much funny right now. Permission. Permission to just… Be himself.

Maybe Henry did read minds. He was a beautiful bastard if he did, using his superpowers for good. Andrew nodded vigorously and Henry was already sinking onto him.

Andrew braced himself against the instinct to thrust up into the tight slide, waiting and watching as Henry’s concentration fell inward, his mouth parting. When Henry opened his eyes again they were hazy and soft, his smile intimate. Caring. He stroked Andrew’s forehead, pushing his hair back, his eyes roving over Andrew’s face—but not. Looking past him, at someone else.

“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Andrew blurted. The two of them were a mess, in bed with all these memories.

Henry blinked, his expression clearing, and Andrew winced. Balls deep in him and Andrew was bringing up his ex. Who did that kind of thing?

Well, Henry did. He’d proven that already. Was it possible for Andrew to pick up his bad habits in the space of a few hours?

He wished he hadn’t said anything, because Andrew instantly missed that open expression and wanted to bring it back. He put his hands to Henry’s face and pulled him down for a kiss—an apology—before Henry could speak. He tilted his hips up, pressing further into Henry, rewarded with a soft groan.

There was something about having this unexpected connection that made him feel an intimacy that had been lacking for a long time in his life. No, Henry wasn’t going to turn into the love of his life, Andrew could already see the thousand ways in which that would be a bad idea—but being able to pretend, to see the love there for just a moment, directed his way, someone who appreciated him, wanted him, whether it was him or not…

He kissed along Henry’s jaw, the bristles of his facial hair sharp against his lips, until he sucked at Henry’s earlobe, thrusting again. Henry’s breath was hot on his cheek.

Maybe he could steal a little bit of that for himself. Just for a night.

“You know, if you want, I can be him. I think I can manage a little role play.”

Henry’s inhale was sharp.

“I—I—“ Henry stuttered, then groaned deeply when Andrew put his hands on his ass and thrust up hard into him. “Oh, god.”

Andrew absorbed the helpless tone of his voice, the uncharacteristic speechlessness, and took the leap.

“What do you want me to say?” he whispered, drawn by the idea of slipping into an act, responsibility for being himself left behind, letting go of all the restraints he’d learned to place on himself and just be free. “My name is James?”

Henry’s gulped noise was high-pitched against his ear. He shuddered again as Andrew thrust up.

“That I missed you?” he whispered.

Henry stilled in his arms, muscles taut, and Andrew bit his lip, wondering if he’d gone too far. Andrew ran his hands over Henry’s back gently. Henry finally lifted his head and studied him for a long time, his heart hammering so hard that Andrew could feel the rhythm echoing throughout his own body.

Henry said nothing, but his kiss was tender. Andrew didn’t miss the small catch in his inhale, or the way his eyes squeezed shut with sudden emotion.

Andrew put one hand to the small of Henry’s back and to the back of his neck, holding him, not moving in him. For one moment they were lovers, not strangers. Andrew’s arms tightened, keeping Henry secure. He kissed him for all he was worth, with care and consideration—with love.

Henry began to rock back and forth on him and Andrew was completely undone, too open to hold back. It turned frantic, hard-edged, both of them getting carried away. At one point he had Henry on his knees, pounding into him, the headboard slamming against the wall before Henry braced his hands on the wall to stop the rocking, working to hold his position. Andrew didn’t care, he was going to fuck this man as hard as he’d take it, with all the pent up energy of years, _years_ of holding back. Henry gasped his appreciation, head down between his arms, groaning, and Andrew wasn’t sure which of them needed this more.

Henry’s back was slick, and Andrew’s weight was on him as he thrust. He could hear Henry’s words caught behind clenched teeth. He wanted them.

“You can say it,” Andrew panted. He wrapped an arm around Henry’s chest, hooking his hand over Henry’s shoulder and shoving in hard. Oh, that was good, so fucking good. Andrew shuddered as he did it again. He wasn’t going to last much longer at this point. “Say it, you can say it, it’s okay.”

“James, please, don’t stop, _James_.”

It was choked, emotional, surrendering, between sobbed breaths, and Henry’s whole body was shaking. Andrew grasped blindly, catching hold of Henry’s erection and pumping him as he thrust.

“That’s right, yes,” Andrew panted, his eyes closed, his mind far beyond anything but chasing the orgasm that was hovering just over the horizon, already tugging at him. The desperation, the need in Henry’s voice, it was perfect, so perfect—

Henry pulsed in his hand, choking on the name, and Andrew’s chest seized as he came, body rigid, slamming hard and deep into Henry, whose body was heaving with every gasp.

It was a good few minutes before Andrew worked up the energy to roll off Henry. Henry stayed face down, still catching his breath. Andrew rested against his side, listening to him, feeling the rise and fall. He kissed Henry’s shoulder and received an acknowledging hum in response. Henry’s fingers twitched, stroking his thigh in a small caress.

Even though the sheets were damp and they were anything but clean, Andrew drifted off, exhausted and sated. Henry roused him at some point in the night and pulled him to the shower, lathering a face cloth and washing them both off with gentle care.

“Is it alright if I sleep here?” Henry whispered in his ear when they’d put new linens to the bed and settled into it.

“Yeah. Please do.”

Andrew snuggled back into Henry’s embrace and spooned against him. Henry was shorter than him, but close enough that it worked. He drifted off in a haze of satisfied comfort.

In his twilight state he felt a soft kiss behind his ear, and heard warm murmured words too far away to understand—but the loving tone was recognizable. It soothed something sharp and raw in Andrew, and, for all that he was in the arms of a stranger, he felt safe and cared for.

He quickly fell back to sleep, content.

 

***

 

Andrew woke feeling like he’d run a marathon. His whole body was stiff and aching.

With a start he remembered the why, the how, and the who. He rolled over, but the bed was empty. Henry wasn’t there. Andrew sat up in confusion, wondering if he’d let himself out before Andrew woke up.

He frowned, staring at the neatened side of the bed. Maybe it was for the best. Save them both a bit of embarrassment.

Didn’t explain why he felt so disappointed.

Then, a rattle and clink came from the kitchen, and the faint strains of someone humming. Andrew levered himself from the bed and grabbed his bathrobe from the back of the door to head to the kitchen.

Nope—not gone. Making _breakfast_.

“Ah, you’re awake!” Henry said without turning around when Andrew appeared in the doorway, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Just in time.”

On Andrew’s little kitchen table, two plates with eggs, toast and slices of an orange—the one and only concession to fruit and vegetables he had in the house at the moment. Henry was in the middle of pressing the plunger on the french press, and the smell of coffee hit him, making his stomach gurgle.

“This is—wow. Thank you,” he stuttered. He’d sure as hell never had a fling make him breakfast in his own home before.

Henry turned to him with two cups of coffee and set them on the table. That done, he came to Andrew and put his hands on his hips, pulling him in for a kiss. It lingered, and Henry examined Andrew with a self-satisfied, _job well done_ air about him when he pulled back. He tipped his head towards the table.

“Hungry?”

“Yes, thanks.”

He’d worried it would be awkward, but instead they fell into amiable conversation, Henry regaling him with odd stories of his work—which was as a medical examiner, of all random things, the antiques business apparently being a side thing. The mystery and crime part of it was fascinating, but as soon as they hit the details of corpses and autopsies and gross biological nastiness, Andrew had to hold up a hand and forestall further stories until he could finish his eggs. Henry’s laughter was warm.

“Not for the squeamish,” he allowed.

“I’m definitely of a weaker constitution—go all faint at the sight of blood,” Andrew said between bites. “Sales and distribution keeps me well of trouble.”

There were far less interesting stories to share about management in a mid-sized tech company—he was a glorified widget salesman, when it came down to it. He tried to explain the whole debacle with the Illinois electronics company—what a pain this order was, it had been haunting him for weeks now—with the circuit boards that were a fraction of an inch too big thanks to a minute calculation error that he knew was on the customer side, not his side. Henry, however, frowned in consternation as Andrew elaborated on the intended purposes of the circuit boards, until eventually Henry shook his head and shrugged with an apologetic wave of his hand.

“Not a gadget guy?” Andrew asked. Not that he was surprised. He doubted Henry was the kind of guy waiting for the latest iPhone release with bated breath.

“I’m afraid it’s all quite beyond me. I keep up on medical advances and the necessary equipment, but I fell behind on what comprises the guts of machinery once the rotary phone went out of style.”

Andrew snorted.

“So you pretty much wrote technology off when you were a kid, then?”

“Yes, something like that,” Henry returned with a charming grin, and then he winked.

A _wink_. The guy was unbelievable. Yet, somehow he made it all work. Andrew chuckled and knocked his foot against Henry’s leg under the table, making Henry laugh, a sound that was genuine and relaxed.

Henry pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket and clicked it open with practiced ease. Yeah, a guy who used a pocket watch and talked like he stepped out of a movie—it should have smacked of pretentious posturing, but it was such a natural flair that Andrew had no doubt the man had been born that way.

Andrew wiped his toast in the last remains of his eggs and popped it in his mouth. Henry’s quirky style was novel and appealing, but the two of them were definitely creatures from different worlds.

There was a bittersweetness in knowing this breakfast was a goodbye as much as a thank you, but Andrew wasn’t going to make the mistake of clinging to what was so obviously a rebound that they might as well both be made of rubber. Even if it _was_ the best sex he’d had in years. Just brushing against the memory of it made Andrew go a bit fuzzy around the edges. That point when Henry had been bent over the bed, his teeth bared and clenched while Andrew—

Henry was watching him, head tilted to the side, the grin on his face making it clear he knew exactly where Andrew’s thoughts had drifted. Andrew blushed like a kid and smiled sheepishly.

“I regret that I have to leave, but it was a wonderful evening.” Henry stood, and Andrew stood with him.

“I had a great time, too.”

Andrew walked him to the front door. Henry nodded once and then opened it, stepping into the hall, but he paused and turned back to Andrew with uncharacteristic hesitancy.

“Thank you for…” Henry licked his lips, then persevered through the thought. “Thank you for letting me see him again.”

It was so sweetly sincere, heavy enough that Andrew felt a pang of empathetic sadness for the guy. He knew that feeling. Hell, it was probably written all over his face right now. It should have felt strange, and yet—well, they’d both been salving each others’ wounds last night. The details of how were not important. Point was, Andrew felt a little better. If he wasn’t mistaken, Henry did too.

Henry leaned in and pressed his lips to Andrew’s softly, light and chaste—then with a small hum of amusement, caught Andrew’s bottom lip between his. There was the smallest flicker of his tongue and Andrew sighed, leaned into it, his heart racing into action. Oh, did he really have to go right this second?

But Henry pulled back, leaving Andrew a little stunned and feeling a little like he was floating. All he could offer Henry was a dazed smile in response to the cocky grin. Henry turned and strolled away down the apartment corridor, hands in his trouser pockets, scarf and jacket tucked under one arm. Andrew watched the self-possessed swagger, half-zoned out on thoughts of what those kisses had led to last night.

“Good morning.” Henry, ten paces down the corridor, nodded a cordial hello to—

—To Andrew’s neighbour, Alicia. She was frozen in the act of locking her door, empty reusable shopping bags dangling from one hand for a trip to the market. The ice-bucket of reality tipped over Andrew’s head. He scrambled to pull his robe securely closed, tightened the sagging belt, and frantically willed away anything that might resemble an erection.

“Uh, hi,” she said, gawking at Henry as he walked past.

Henry continued on and disappeared into the stairwell door without a break in his chipper step. Once the door closed behind him, Alicia’s head swivelled back to Andrew, her eyes round and mouth hanging open.

“After that performance last night I assumed Matt was back, but apparently not,” Alicia said, breaking into a grin.

Andrew covered his eyes, cringing. They hadn’t been even remotely discreet—and of course that was Alicia’s wall the headboard had been slamming against when he’d been buggering Henry like a fucking jackhammer. She’d gotten one hell of a show if she’d been home and listening. Andrew wiped his hand over his face before he folded his arms tightly. Social graces demanded he stand there and suck it up, even if he’d rather be ducking back into his apartment and slamming the door to get on with the business of dying of embarrassment.

“I am _so_ sorry,” he mumbled. “I promise that’s not going to be a regular thing.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Alicia said, waving his words away. “But I’ll call it even on those three hours of lost sleep if you give me the dirt. Who is he?”

Alicia, forty-something, with a full-time career of moaning about being single, had moved into the building six months after Andrew and Matt. She treated life like it was a _Sex in the City_ episode, which Matt had identified—uncharitably, but probably accurately—as the reason why she was still single. To Andrew’s bemusement, she instantly cast Andrew in the role of Gay Best Friend, but after realizing that Andrew didn’t shit glitter and sparkle with fabulousness or whatever the gay best friends of her imagination did, she’d managed to relax a bit and become a normal acquaintance, and then a friend. Matt never really spoke to her, which had made Andrew overcompensate, until next thing he knew he was kind of fond of the woman, even if she was one cat away from crazy cat lady territory.

“It’s nothing,” he said, and then winced. “No, not _nothing_ , I mean—he’s—I met him when I was buying a couch.”

Alicia’s eyebrows were high enough to join her hairline, and Andrew sighed in defeat, leaning his forehead against the door frame. Classy, really classy. _Hey neighbour, sorry I kept you up banging the furniture salesman._

“Well, you needed it,” Alicia said with a definitive nod, jiggling her key to free it from the lock and tucking the keys in her pocket. “It’s been a hell of a month.”

“Thanks,” he said, and lifted his head to give her a weak smile.

“Okay, I’m off! Give me the heads up next time, I’ll make sure I’m out. Seriously, _three hours_. That is stamina, my friend.”

Andrew’s cheeks were flaming hot, and Alicia waved her fingers goodbye as she walked away, snickering.

Andrew slunk back into the apartment and headed for the shower. He felt too boneless and tired to fret for long, and the embarrassment soon washed away under the hot water. He spent most of the day taking it easy, puttering around the apartment while his thoughts drifting in and out of the previous night’s events.

It was four in the afternoon before he realized he’d spent the whole day at home without constantly thinking of Matt and all the holes he’d left. He was just here, living his life. Normal, everyday life. Henry wasn’t the only person who got something out of last night, anyway.

It was too bad it wouldn’t work between them. Andrew wasn’t ready, and Henry—yeah, probably not a great idea to date your ex’s doppelgänger.

Which, now that he really thought about it, meant that somewhere out there, he had a twin. Andrew reached for his laptop.

James Carter. Pretty generic name. Even with ‘doctor’ added into the search terms, Andrew turned up dry.

He added New York, and it narrowed down, but he still had a few to page through. One caught his eye, mostly because he had an old boyfriend who’d worked in the Lower East Side Tenement Museum. The pdf link on the museum website pulled up an old article retelling of immigrant experiences during a tuberculosis epidemic. Doctors went through the communities treating the sick, as well as bringing people into the hospitals when necessary.

An old hospital staff photo was mixed with the poorly blotted newsprint text, and Andrew squinted at the photo. James Carter, second from the left, bottom row. Even with the blurry quality, Andrew could recognize his own features. He frowned, checking the newspaper date. 1906. He glanced back to the photo.

Eerier still, now that he looked at it—give Henry a shave, and the guy standing next to Dr. Carter looked just like him. Andrew searched for a name to the face, but the list of names was distorted and abruptly cut off at the bottom of the page, leaving more than half of the dozen or so nurses and doctors unidentified.

The article had the look of being passed through the photocopier too many times, and when he looked at it closely the faces were really just smudges, a collection of black lines that hinted at similarities. Maybe he was looking for connections that weren’t there.

He pulled back from the computer screen again, taking in the whole picture. The resemblances were undeniable. No—no, that was definitely weird.

He settled back on his new couch, comfortable for all its stately elegance. He was a little confused and a little creeped out.

Maybe he’d scored a date with a ghost.

Maybe Andrew _himself_ was a ghost and he didn’t know it.

At that thought, Andrew slammed the laptop shut. Right, he definitely needed to catch up on his sleep, he was straying into daytime talk show territory. Call it a weird coincidence and leave it at that.

He thought about calling Henry to ask, but couldn’t come up with a single way that didn’t seem stalkerish, clingy, or insane. No, he wasn’t going to see Henry again, and he was going to let this one go.

 

***

 

For having lost the better part of a night’s rest, Henry was energized, and decided to walk home to stretch out his stiff muscles. He took his time despite the chill morning wind, mind peaceful as he strolled through the city, ignoring the typical quick pace that was the usual hallmark of New York denizens even on a sunny Sunday morning.

He arrived home around ten in the morning, only remembering that he had not notified Abe of his decision to stay out overnight when Abe looked up from the newspaper spread on the kitchen table with a quick jerk of his head and slight disapproving scowl.

Henry hung his coat and scarf up, expecting Abe to start in on him immediately for his thoughtlessness, but instead Abe merely made a quiet _hmph_ and bent his head to return to the crossword.

“Good morning, Abe.”

“‘Morning,” Abe said. Without looking up, he brandished his pencil at Henry. “‘Essential amino acid,’ six letters, L-blank-blank—”

“Lycine,” Henry supplied.

“Aha!” Abe’s pencil scratched in the letters. He proceeded to mutter clues and responses under his breath as he filled in the cascade of riddles solved by the missing answer.

Henry chuckled and left Abe to his work, but noted from the corner of his eye that Abe paused and his gaze followed him from the room. His curiosity was palpable, even unstated.

Normally Henry’s weekends—and weekday evenings, truthfully—were spent re-cataloguing his personal archives. Since moving back in with Abe and regaining the memorabilia and records he’d kept over his lifetime, he’d started scouring through them in an attempt to find a pattern to his deaths and revivals. He sensed there was something about the timing between the two was linked to the cause of death, but he wanted a complete picture before he’d draw the conclusion. His memory was remarkably keen for how many years it stretched over, but even he forgot things. Pouring over his records to make sure he hadn’t missed any of his deaths was a long and tedious process, but one he was steadily plodding through. He’d learned a great deal of patience for tedious things in his time.

Not today, however. He knew he didn’t have the attention span for it, instead drifting into a reverie with each delicious twinge or protest of his roughly-treated body. Breakfast with Andrew blended into dinners with James, the taste and sound of James flowing back into Andrew’s blunt, aggressive words growled in his ear, his hard, bone-rattling thrusts and bruising grip, and James’ name flowing freely from Henry’s own lips throughout. Henry gave up on ideas of work while taking a leisurely shower, slowly stroking himself until he was shivering and braced against the shower wall, lost in the haze of remembrance and finding his orgasm all too quickly.

Continuing physical youth might be an annoyance at times, but at others it was a wonderful blessing.

Henry finally found a task to keep himself suitably occupied while his mind pleasantly drifted, taking apart and cleaning an old clock from his childhood era. Abe had been nagging him to work on it for a month while Henry unintentionally brushed it aside in favour of his research projects. He pried the face free with care and disassembled it, cleaning each cog and spring carefully while his mind wandered. Abe caught him several times staring off into space. Henry focused to find Abe watching him, eyebrow raised and hands on his hips, and Henry shook himself to return to his task with a self-deprecating smile.

He worked through the afternoon on the detailed task, surprised by the call to dinner. After reassembling the clock, he wound it and set it on the mantle, pleased with at least one job done for the day.

Towards the end of the night as Henry poured himself tea from the steeping pot, Henry caught Abe watching him from the living room again, peering over the frames of his glasses, the book in his hands ignored.

“What is it?” he prompted with a sigh, finally goaded into asking Abe what, precisely, he was thinking so very loudly.

“Oh, just wondering if this one gets a call back.”

Henry pursed his lips and gave Abe a disapproving look, but before he could say anything Abe held up a hand.

“Okay, fine, fine. No, you do whatever you do.” He returned his gaze to the book, with a very poor show of pretending to be interested in it. Henry folded his arms, and did not have to wait long for the inevitable continuation. “But it sounds like you had a good time. You know, if the whistling and strutting around all day are anything to go by.”

Henry dropped his arms to his sides, straightening up with a slight huff. He took up his cup from the kitchen counter and came into the living room. He settled into the chair opposite Abe, a little indignant.

“I was not—I do not strut, thank you. And _yes_ , I did have a lovely evening.” He stopped when Abe glanced up at him again, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. Henry glared at him. “For goodness’ sake, Abraham! Your father’s love life cannot be of this much fascination to you.”

“Trust me, it’s not.” Abe clapped the book closed. “However, this is the first time in months I’ve seen you out of that basement for anything other than work or opera tickets. I’m curious if someone with that much draw gets a second date.”

Henry picked up the undercurrent of genuine concern in Abe’s teasing. In the past two years since Henry had moved back to New York and started living with Abe again, Abe had grown less and less subtle in his opinion that Henry should ‘get back out there,’ as he put it. No doubt he was hopeful this was the beginning of that enterprise.

Rather, last night Henry had been granted a temporary pass into his own memories, thanks to Andrew and his unexpected kindness and generosity. It had been a reacquaintance, a greeting, and a farewell all rolled into one. Andrew, with his puppy-like eagerness and wide-eyed enthusiasm, was now permanently blurred into Henry’s memory of James. It was complicated and a little confusing, both in turns wonderful and painful, but the experience was now tucked away close to Henry’s heart and would stay there, old experiences polished off and given a new, unique shine.

He also knew that it could not be repeated.

Even if Henry were so callous and deluded as to pursue Andrew, he was certain that the young man was sensible enough to know that a person deserved to be loved for themselves, not for what they weren’t. Or rather, Henry suspected, he was on his way to learning it. Henry would not toy with him further for his own selfish reasons.

He couldn’t explain any of this to Abe, but neither did he want to leave his son with nothing. His concern was well-intentioned, after all.

“I think,” Henry said slowly, placing his cup on the table by his elbow, “that in this case, no. Not because of—of my, er,” _my complete incapability to move on from the loss of your mother,_ a rather unhelpful voice supplied, and he cleared his throat, searching for some dignified way through this. “I don’t think he is at the point—”

At that point, Abe’s interest really perked up, and Henry stopped, confused.

“No, go on.” Abe leaned forward, a delighted look on his face. “ _He_ what?”

Henry blinked at the emphasis, and then realized that in Abe’s lifetime, he’d never once seen his father involved with a man. Granted, most of that time he’d been devoted to Abigail, but perhaps Abe had made assumptions. He sighed and rubbed his brow, suddenly tiring of the conversation.

“I believe it’s not the right time, for him or for me. Even so, we did have a lovely evening.” He said it quietly, firmly closing the matter.

Abe tilted his head as he looked at Henry, then lowered his eyes after a moment, a little chastened.

“Sorry, Dad. You know I don’t mean to give you a hard time.” Abe stood, his book in his hands. “But it’s good to see you smile.”

He shuffled off, headed for bed, leaving Henry sitting in the living room on his own.

Henry sipped his tea. He didn’t like to trouble Abe, but his expectations for Henry were unrealistic. Henry had finally found some peace in his work and his research, and it was unwise to stray too far from the safety they provided. Much as living with Abe made Henry happier than he’d been in years, Abe seemed determined to prod Henry continuously, trying to upset his delicate balance. Fortunately Abe’s complaints and criticism were starting to take on the tone of routine grumbling rather than genuine conversation, making them easier to brush aside.

No, he wouldn’t see Andrew again. However, his existence, his remarkable resemblance to James, set Henry wondering if such a thing were common, if virtual twins were a fluke of the universe he had only now discovered. Did he have someone out there who shared his face? Did Abe?

Did Abigail?

Was there a woman somewhere, soft blonde hair, loving smile, living her life right now? Henry was already certain he saw flashes of her in the corner of his eye when he ventured out. Would he someday find himself face to face with the vision of his wife?

He hoped not. While he was willing to let the memory of James be brought back to life like this, he wouldn’t let anything muddy his memories of Abigail. They were still too potent, too strong, and comprised too much of what constituted his soul.

Henry took a last sip of his cooling tea and stood, taking it to the kitchen to dump it out before heading for bed.

Tomorrow, it would be back to work, his mind and body clear and at peace. Or, as much peace as he ever had these days.

**Author's Note:**

> Henry's mention of propositioning James is a reference to the drabble ["Come Home With Me."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4109548)


End file.
